Dozen Years

It was freezing. There was a faint light of morning dawn and the first snow of the season was falling quickly and thickly onto the roads.

The baby was enormous, this we knew, and I knew the day would be long and hard. I had no idea how hard as they slipped the IV into my vein to tell my body that today would be the day my baby would arrive. The day is a blur of pain and memories of screaming and vacuums and the amazing sight of my bruised and beautiful son.

A son! My very own perfect, precious beautiful baby boy.

And they left me alone with him. He was MINE. His name, as a separate person, added to the bassinet. I had made a BABY. Someone thought I would know how to take care of him and my terrified husband and I were left alone with a baby. Our son, Tanner.

Soon I was surrounded by the women I needed the most. Travelling 12 hours across snow covered and icy highways came my grandmother, my aunt, my mother, my sister, my cousin. To support, hug, encourage me. To welcome this little creature into the folds of our family. The first born son. The first born son in 3 generations. The perfect, amazing, incredible baby boy. For the first time I felt part of a larger process. The generations of women there to welcome my entry into motherhood. To warm me to the idea that this was a good and amazing thing. That I could DO motherhood, like they had done motherhood. I was part of them, and my baby a part of us.

Today as I celebrate the birth of my then first son, now my third son, I ache for those women. I miss what was. We are changed, some gone, some older. That moment of first love and that tight circle of love and support is cracked.

Before my son was two, and before she could meet his brothers, my aunt was taken cruelly from us. Today I miss her. I miss her wisdom and humor and love. I miss sharing stories of her two baby grandsons with her and reminiscing about when my sons were that age. I remember the gift of encouragement and love and support she gave me when I was so young and scared.

The ache from the absence of my grandma, my Nan, is enormous. My sister is coming today to help us celebrate Thanksgiving and Birthday, once again making a drive on an icy highway. Together we are feeling the raw edges of a too recent loss. We will hide the tears under smiles

for my son on the brink of adolescence.

My amazing, beautiful, first born son who brought me into the world of Motherhood. I remember the mothers who helped welcome him into our world. A dozen years later I mother half a dozen kids. I can do this motherhood thing, I just wish they were still here along the journey with me.

Happy Birthday Tanner, I miss you Nan, Happy Thanksgiving my fellow Canadians.

A Grief Shared - A Perfect Moment Monday

It was the very end of a very long day at the end of a very long week.

I had honored a woman who meant the world to me on this beautiful spring day surrounded by friends and family. We had laughed and shared stories. We had wept and embraced. Hours and hours had passed and we were at the very last moment of the day. I was completely spent, exhausted in a way that only such an emotionally draining experience can create.

It was time to say a final goodbye. Her ashes had been lowered into the strangely small hole. Everyone had laid their carnations on the spot that would be her final resting place. The crowd was dispersing and I quietly made my way to her grave to have a final moment alone.

I crouched over the spot. Tears finally falling freely and I shared some private words with the woman who was my Nan. I was alone and strangely felt very young and vulnerable.

Without looking up, I felt a presence and the warmth of a small arm stretch to wrap itself around me and the gentle pressure of a small body pressing into mine.

"Mommy, are you sad?" asked my gentle hearted and caring youngest son.

There he stayed, whispering endearments and words of comfort as only an eight year old can. "Mommy we will really miss her, won't we? She loved us very much Mommy. Are you still sad?" Finally sitting in silence, he held me close.

And then he began to weep along with me, and I in turn wrapped him in my arms and comforted my son. Together in our grief sharing tears for a woman who loved us, and whom we loved.

It was a moment I will never forget and I was oblivious to the fact it was being caught on film by a dear friend who recognized the beauty in the moment. My son, who loved me enough to join me in my grief and share his own with me. My son, who loves me and wants to be with me in my loss. My son, who I comfort and protect and love for the gentle boy he is. My precious, precious Caden.

Sent my Babes on a Jet Plane

Today I hugged my oldest son and my youngest son goodbye and sent them on away. Alone. On a plane.

They are currently, at this very moment, winging their way across the country straight East to where their beloved Great Grandmother is. She is awaiting their visit; While waiting to die.

Its a complicated feeling allowing your children to go through something like this alone. Alone meaning without ME. My mother is joining them part way through their trip. My 6 year old nephew is also going to be there.

It was a last minute decision. These 3 grandchildren weren't going to get the chance to join us for our pre-planned visit next week. We were hoping to be able to wait until later this winter. When word came that time was short, these 3 began to protest that they too wanted the chance to see Grandma Nan.

Monday, Caden sat in my lap and sobbed. Heart breaking, gut wrenching sobs. He needed this chance to to tell his Great Grandma that he loved her. He needs to hear it from her. In reality, he needs to say good bye.

Greg deserves the same chance. Wants the same time. And so, my sister and I made the decision to send the boys on ahead to have a visit now, while they can. Neither of us could make the trip this weekend. And so our mother got called into Grandma duty.

They will never regret going, but they might have always regretted not. And so they are sent.

To prepare, the 4 boys sat down last night and wrote her letters. Letters they will get to read to her. Letters talking about their favorite memories with her. Their favorite treats she would bake. They all talked of their love for her.

I read Caden a book called "Always in Our Heart" about a little boy whose Grandpa died. I showed them both pictures of her in the hospital so the tubes aren't quite so scary.

I went shopping for gifts that I wrapped and packed and signed with cards from my Nan to the boys. I know she will love to feel like she is giving them something too. She won't remember that she didn't buy them. They promised to pretend like she had.

Caden packed his precious album that he inherited from my Nan when we packed up her home last fall. An entire album of pictures she had lovingly put together of her and our boys. More than anything he wants to look through it with her one more time.

And so they get to say goodbye.

Nan, with 6 of "her boys"